


i'd go hungry, i'd go black and blue

by eclectictsunami



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Bittersweet, Codependency, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Suicide Attempt (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclectictsunami/pseuds/eclectictsunami
Summary: Love doesn't quite, quite conquer all. Except when it does.





	i'd go hungry, i'd go black and blue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even ship this that much! I ship Thommy much, much more, but this wouldn't leave me alone. Couldn't possibly be my projecting my desires to care for someone and be cared for onto these fictional characters, could it? Of course not.
> 
> There are a lot of missing pieces here, things left implied, that didn't quite make it in. Maybe someday they'll get written down in some form. Maybe they won't.
> 
> Title from "To Make You Feel my Love." I listened to the Adele version about a thousand times while writing this.

Sometimes when he’s struggling through his books Edward gets so angry, so much that his hands shake and he can hardly hold the book, much less run his fingers over the pages. No matter how many times he’s done it successfully before, sometimes his will and his ability and knowledge fail him, and Thomas wishes he were someone else, someone smarter, more patient, someone better.

Sometimes Thomas laments all the progress he’s made, everything they’ve struggled through together, when Edward refuses to read or talk or speak or eat or even sleep - just stares blankly at the wall and refuses to let himself be comforted, when none of Thomas’ pleading or cajoling or even shouting can shake him from his own stasis. Thomas gets a sense, then, what it might have been like if he had not gotten to Edward in time, staunched the blood with his own shaking hands, screaming _stay with me, stay with me._ The emptiness that he would have seen on his Edward’s face; the emptiness that would fill his own days, his own life.

Sometimes when Edward does this, Thomas thinks about leaving. He thinks about driving his fist into a wall, of screaming and never stopping, of shaking Edward till his teeth rattle. The terror of it is sometimes so terrible that his breathing goes shallow and his vision dark, and then he almost, almost knows the horror and loss that Edward must feel every day of his life, and he weeps.

—-

It’s another in a long line of miserable nights around the Courtenay dinner table; Edward has already become so accustomed to his blindness that he doesn’t realize just how starkly his feelings show on his face. He can’t see the way his face falls at his brother’s thinly-veiled insults or the way his jaw tenses at his mother’s quavering voice that seems always about to break with her sadness at what her eldest son has become, how _broken_ he is now, but Thomas can see everything. He’s heard it all a hundred times, but it doesn’t seem to have made it any easier on Edward. It hasn’t made Thomas less angry on his behalf, either.

When he takes Edward’s hand under the table he squeezes back so hard that it makes the wound ache, and he has to squeeze his other hand into a fist to keep from wincing away. Judging from his smirk he thinks Edward’s brother may be able to see it anyway. He doesn’t let go once, even when he feels the bones grind together and a throb of pain go up his wrist in response.

He has Edward on his lap that night, bodies pressed so close together there’s scarcely an inch of Thomas’ skin that doesn’t touch his. Edward is a hungry, greedy lover, scrabbling at Thomas’ shoulders for balance, rutting his cock against him where it’s trapped close between their bodies, face buried in Thomas’ sweaty neck. Edward is, Thomas has discovered, naturally loud. On those occasional, precious nights when the rest of the Courtenays are away and they have the house to themselves he howls like a man in pain, almost anguished in his pleasure and need. His nails dig so deeply into Thomas’ shoulders he’s sure they’ll be visibly scratched tomorrow, and the sweet curls of his hair tickle where they fall to his neck. Thomas has learned to love him best in the dark, sharing that space where Edward must live all the time; learning him only by touch and sound and taste. _Thomas_ , he whispers over and over again, _Thomas, Thomas, Thomas._

When it’s over and they lie together Edward is still shaking with the force of it, whispering words of gratitude and relief so effusive that Thomas feels almost ashamed; embarrassed at the attention, regretting every uncharitable or unkind thought he’s ever had about this man in his arms, and resolves again to keep such things to himself, always, to never become another reason Edward suffers.

—-

 _You’re the best man I’ve ever known_ , Edward had told him once, on one of the nights that his nightmares made him needy and tender, head resting on Thomas’ lap while Thomas ran his fingers through his curly hair. _The very best._

_I’m not a good man,_ Thomas had thought. _I love you, I care for myself, and the rest of the world can go to hell. I’m not a good man, you only think so because I love you and you let me because you think no one else will want you. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met, and you think I’m the best thing that could have happened to you._

Sometimes he’s not sure he wants Edward to feel any different, because then he wouldn’t need Thomas as he does, and those are the moments he hates himself most.

—

Edward is loud when they make love; so too is he loud when they fight. When something triggers his temper his voice reaches a terribly shrill pitch that grates on Thomas’ ears, and he has broken objects around their room more than once, making it hard for Thomas to refrain from calling him a spoilt brat for it. He has to bite his tongue sometimes to hard he draws blood to hold back the retorts, but the litany runs through his mind all the same: _do you know what I’ve given up for you, all the ambitions I’ve sacrificed to stay by your side, to live in this miserable house and play nursemaid to a crippled man who sometimes won’t let me so much as take his hand for days, do you know that I would never allow you to speak to me this way if I did not love you so, do you know how many nightmares I pretend not to have for your benefit so I can comfort you instead, do you know what it did to me to see you in your hospital bed, white as a sheet and covered in your own blood, do you know how selfish that was, do you know how terrified I am that you will do it again, how carefully I choose my words around you for fear that I will send you back to that place, how carefully I study you every day, how I would rather you throw a thousand lamps at my head than see that blank, empty look in your eyes that I see on your worst days, that I would take anything from you if it meant that you were safe for just one more day._ He clenches his wounded hand hard enough that the ache spreads pain all through his arm, and he stays silent.

He hides this from him, and is hideously, guiltily thankful that Edward cannot read it all on his face, that his years of service have taught him how to keep his voice pleasant and cool even when he’s gritting his teeth with anger and his heart is breaking.

Sometimes Edward won’t let Thomas near him for days after they fight. Other times he falls to his knees and begs Thomas’ forgiveness, tells him he loves him and couldn’t survive without him, says _I know I can be terrible and I understand why you would want to leave but please, don’t, my love, I want you to be happy but I am such a selfish man, I love you, my darling, please forgive me, please._

On good days, Edward is sweet and even playful, finding ticklish spots on Thomas he never knew he had, nibbling at his ear and telling him foolish stories to make him laugh. These days are rare, but they’re getting less so, Thomas thinks, and on those days Edward is absolutely radiant, making Thomas’ poor romantic heart pound and stutter in his chest, the most beautiful man in the world and everything he could have ever wanted. In all his life Thomas could never have imagined a man who would look so glad to rest his head on his shoulder and hold his hand, who would tease him and play with him and rest his untidy curly head on Thomas’ chest while they slept. He could not have imagined a man who would cradle his injured hand between both of his and call him brave. He could not have imagined, not in all his life, loving a man so very much.

—

Whatever little bit of camaraderie Thomas might have felt at Downton Abbey is even more absent here. The housekeeper, who admittedly does seem to have some fondness for Edward, tinged though it is with pity, eyes him with constant suspicion, clearly thinking he is taking advantage of Edward’s blindness and playing him for a fool. The rest of the family seem to feel much the same, reacting to Thomas’ presence with the sort of indulgence that comes from having an ill son, and the guilty relief of people who are glad not to have to deal with Edward themselves. There are no allies or rivalries here, no sparring partners, no upstairs family to resent and envy; only these cold, suspicious people who treat both he and Edward as an imposition on their lives but are too well bred to say so. 

He never expected to stay in touch with those he left behind; certainly he’d made no effort to do so, and had run away from them and toward Edward with barely a second’s consideration. All the same, there are things - a way in which he was understood, sometimes, in a different way than Edward does -

He does not miss O’Brien. She called him a fool for running away to be a wealthy man’s lover and lapdog, for giving up all his self-reliance for the whims of a man whose place in his own household was so insecure. She said a great many cruel things about him and Edward both, some that she likely believed and some that he is sure was only meant to wound. He does not miss her, or the hard edges she exposed in him, but he does wonder if some of that coldness he could share with her before spills over to Edward, where he least wants it to go.

Thomas is not sure if it’s concern for their relative’s well-being that allows for his continued presence, or simply the desire to have Edward out of their way, but he knows what that antipathy and disinterest look like even if Edward doesn’t. Viciously, he thinks that they might have preferred Edward died in the war; then they could have a hero to mourn instead of a cripple to shame them. Edward’s brother is the worst of them by far, a constant thorn in their sides, and if Thomas were able - if he were able, if he had any money of his own, he would take Edward far away from his family that only causes him pain and never look back. Every time they remind Edward of their generosity in letting him stay and he sees a little bit more of that shame deepen the lines around those eyes, he thinks he could throttle them all with his bare hands. Sometimes thinks he might, if it would not lead him to the gallows and then away from Edward forever.

—

The first time Edward kisses him it’s a trembling tremulous thing; he misses Thomas’ mouth completely at first, so clumsy and eager but still so terrified. Thomas takes his face between his hands and gently, carefully guides his mouth back to his own, and he can feel such a rush of relief shudder through Edward that it nearly breaks his heart. He presses kisses to Edward’s cheeks and forehead, the corner of his mouth, and Edward simply goes limp and lets himself himself be kissed, exhausted from his rush of bravery.

Much later, drunk on one another’s kisses, Edward’s chest and throat red from Thomas’ lips, the sweetest, loveliest thing Thomas has ever seen, Thomas asks him how he knew. _I just hoped,_ Edward says. _God, Thomas, I hoped._

He realizes Edward has never once been able to read what he feels on his face, and kisses every one of his fingers in turn, lays his hand over his own face to kiss his palm, so that Edward can feel where his lips turn up in a smile.

—

 _Read to me, Thomas,_ Edward says one night, when Thomas is somewhere between sleeping and waking. _Anything you like._ He sounds as though he has been awake for a long time, but his voice is calm.

It’s the middle of the night. All the world is asleep, in pitch black, as dark as what Edward sees in every waking moment.

 _Yes, my love,_ he says, and kisses the crown of Edward’s head. _Yes, of course I will_.


End file.
